


Our Home

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry attempts to get some work done on his and Oliver's new, old place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Olivarry Week Day Five Prompt: Domestic. Enjoy!

“I never would have guessed you’d look that good in a tool belt.” A voice cuts through the steady whir of the power saw and the pounding of the hammer, and Barry sways unsteadily on his perch on top of the ladder before carefully turning around to spot the speaker.

Oliver stands in the archway with a tray stacked high with the lunch he’s been able to smell wafting from the kitchen for the last hour and a half and two water bottles. “Thought you’d be hungry.”

Barry feels a smile spread wide across his face at the sight, and he zips down the ladder right to the other man, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips while simultaneously taking hold of the tray. “You’re amazing, thank you. I am _way_ past hungry.”

Oliver’s brow crinkles with just the first hints of concern as they find a relatively clean, empty space on the floor to settle for their meal. “You’re not pushing yourself too hard, right? There’s really no rush, Barry.”

He takes a large gulp from his water before replying. “Hey, three rooms a day is not rushing. Not when move-in’s at the end of the week.” It’s a reminder the older man hardly needs; this is his idea, after all, and his home. With Felicity at the helm of the former Queen Consolidated, she and Laurel had been able to parse out the legalese that granted Oliver back the deed to the old manor, which was not only old but in need of some fixing up after sitting abandoned for a good couple of years or so. “I am determined to be on time with this.”

“Well that’s a bold statement coming from you,” the other man jokes. He’s barely started on his own food, but sets his plate down to state, “I could help.”

“You are helping,” he insists, spearing another bite with his fork demonstratively.

“I mean with more than cooking,” is the dismissive response.

“Cooking for me’s a job all on its own,” Barry points out. He reaches out to lay his hand over one of Oliver’s as he continues, “And I wanted to do this. You’re letting me live with you—”

“Moving in together,” Oliver corrects for what’s probably the umpteenth time since the idea had ever come to them. “I’m serious, Barry, I don’t care who owned it before. This isn’t just my house. It’s ours.” The hand underneath his turns over so the older man can lace their fingers together. “That’s why there’s two names on the deed.”

His fork drops to his plate with a clatter. “No. You didn’t!” An unabashed nod and the grin unfolding on the vigilante’s lips at his shock are all the confirmation he needs, and Barry realizes dimly he’s probably squeezing his hand too tight.

But all his life—his parent’s home, Joe’s, the rent at his run-down apartment, and back to Joe’s—he’s never owned a place. Now he has a _home_ , with _Oliver_.

Before he can even think about it he’s hugging the other man tight and fighting desperately to keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling over. He feels the rumble of his partner’s chuckle in his chest far before he hears it and Oliver holds him tight against his chest for as long as he lets him—because then Barry’s rushing through the rest of his food, downing his water, and back up and standing by the unfinished wall.

“I love you so much, and I am gonna have all this done by _tomorrow_ , that’s how happy I am right now.”

The other man gets to his feet as well. “Ok, then you’re definitely going to need help.”

“No, I’ve got this, honest. Anyway I’ll be going so fast you won’t even know what to hammer,” he can’t help the cheeky jibe, twirling said tool around and around at a high enough speed it’s a blur. Unfortunately he fumbles it momentarily once he stops which probably makes it look a lot less impressive.

Oliver walks over to him with his usual arched brow look when he thinks Barry’s said or done something particularly foolish. “Speed-reading through _Home Improvement for Dummies_ doesn’t always make up for years of hard-won experience.” It’s a variation on the theme of their differing strategies, which they’ve bantered back and forth about for so long now it just earns a childish eye roll from Barry, and he simply lets the other man start fixing his grip on the hammer.

“I read through a lot more than that.”

“I know.”

Their hands are curled, one over the other, around the handle. He pulls his arm in towards himself and Oliver takes another step closer. Barry tips his head to the side with a challenging look. “Are you actually going to let me get any work done?”

“Maybe.” The mischievous answer is followed by the man’s lips on his, which he really shouldn’t give into, but he’s pressed back into the wall. Oliver’s grip shifts to his wrist, pinning that there as well and the hammer slips from his fingers, forgotten. He spares half a second to worry about the flooring being chipped but then his partner is licking his way into his mouth and any thoughts that aren’t _Oliver_ are deemed unimportant and shelved for later.

He breaks off the kiss, breathless and wanting, eyes casting about frantically for _somewhere_ —“Couch?”

“Couch,” the other man agrees with a short nod.

Barry maybe knocks his head off the armrest when he practically throws himself onto the piece of covered furniture, but then Oliver’s climbing on top of him and greedily reconnecting their lips so the pain’s easy to ignore. The older man smooths reverent hands over the tool belt he claims Barry looks so good in before stripping him of it and his pants.

He goes to prop one foot on the backrest to try and spread himself, but his partner simply takes hold of both his legs and hooks them over his shoulders, leaving him fully exposed and helpless to whatever the other man wants to do to him, and he whimpers. It turns into a moan when Oliver grinds his covered groin against him, making his intentions perfectly clear.

“Lube?” He has the presence of mind to ask between panted breaths as his hips jerk forward, needing more of that contact.

The older man goes still for a moment, before his face sets in determination. “We’ll make do.” A callused hand wraps around him and begins stroking hard and fast, and his already leaking cock begins dripping precum in earnest. “Come on, Barry, slick me up. Want to feel your tight little hole around me right here, right now.”

“Ol- Oliver!”

When Barry spills all over his own stomach with a strangled yell, the other man makes good on his promise; he hears the zip of Oliver’s jeans being tugged down and then the man is scooping some of the mess up, spreading it all over his hardened cock, and the knowledge that his seed’s being used as a lubricant to fuck him has his own length already twitching in renewed interest.

Sunlight streams through the windows casting everything in a warm glow on this lazy afternoon, and perhaps to match that his partner is slow in preparing him, adding each finger one at a time until Barry’s achingly hard again, rocking onto his hand and begging for him. Then they’re moving as if starved and desperate for each other. Oliver bites and kisses down his neck with a bruising grip on his hips while Barry cries out his lover’s name as he pounds into his sweet spot over and over, and his last coherent thought before they reach completion is _this is our first time in **our home**_.

He dozes afterward, unsure how much time passes; just that the shadows are longer and he’s warm from a blanket laid over him. Oliver’s clothed and sitting up on one end of the couch, going over what looks like details for a home security system.  Barry’s head is pillowed on his thigh, and one of his hands massages the back of his neck which is admittedly a bit stiff from the position.

He shifts to provide the other better access. “Mm. We need to buy a better napping couch.”

“The couch wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t saving the master bedroom for last,” the other vigilante is of course ready with a retort.

“If I started there I’d never get the rest of it done,” he counters, pushing himself up. The blanket slips and Oliver doesn’t even bother to hide the smug, pointed look he gives his distinctly disheveled appearance. Barry’s face heats up. “This doesn’t count. It was a one-time thing. Really.”

“That’s a shame, cause I was looking forward to breaking the place in.” The other man’s voice dips into that dangerously low, husky register as he leans in to murmur right in Barry’s ear, “Room by room…”

“That’s a lot of rooms,” is the first thing that comes to mind. Then he groans as teeth gently snag his earlobe and start nibbling. “Oliver, you’re so _distracting_.”

“Let me help and maybe I’d have less reason to distract you.”

Barry stubbornly holds out up until the man’s callused hand starts trailing down his chest. “Ugh, fine! Here I am, just trying to do something nice for you, but fine.” He pulls away and leans over to grab up his jeans and boxers from the floor, possibly pouting.

Oliver takes hold of his arm, though, and he looks up. “We’re doing something nice for _us_ , Barry. Our home.”

“Our home,” he echoes softer, testing the words out on his tongue for the first time, a wave of warmth and exhilaration not unlike what they only just recently experienced together washing over him as he really processes what that means. Barry doesn’t know how wide his smile is, but if the answering one Oliver is giving him is any indication, it could light up the whole manor.

“Our home,” he repeats, a little surer, just to hear it again and see the other man looking that happy, that loving. He almost can’t take it, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s climbed into the other’s lap, murmuring the words over and over between kisses he presses to eager lips, the task at hand forgotten again for the moment.

They work better at night anyway.


End file.
